Barty’s Revenge
by planet p
Summary: Barty Crouch, Jr. exacts his revenge on those who would fancy themselves devoted... with the help of a mysterious wand...


**Barty's Revenge** by planet p

**Disclaimer **All recognisable characters and events belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

* * *

The lilac wand is shoved in her face. At first the scent of cinnamon is unfamiliar. She will become used to the scent after 40, 50 of these meetings. For now she is startled and incredulous at who would dare – dare! – point that thing at her!

The hand is steady. She notes this and is just beginning to run through likely candidates when Peter Pettigrew steps into sharp view in front of her.

She laughs. She can't help it. The sound is like a bark.

Her own wand is trained on him in an instant. She wonders where he procured this new wand. It is not the chestnut and dragon heartstring she is used to seeing him encumbered with.

Unexpectedly, Peter roars with laughter, his small blue eyes filling and filling with water. "Good show!" he congratulates with a bravado further unexpected of cowering, whimpering Wormtail.

Nastily, she hisses a curse.

Peter screams and she takes a moment to smile, but it is a moment too soon as Peter's painful high screams turn deeper and he looks at her and screams again, but this time clearly not in pain.

The sound alarms her.

"You hurt me!" Peter exclaims, planting a hand to his chest where his heart might have been.

In her momentary shock she allows her wand to be taken from her.

She will pay for this moment. She is bound, ropes cutting into her flesh unkindly. At first she thinks he means to torture her.

He propels her toward a bed with a strength she did not know he possessed.

She falls on her face, but he turns her roughly with one hand: the silver one, the one not holding a wand.

Her bonds immediately spring to life, seeking to secure her fastly to the bed.

He does not gag her, yet she knows it will be pointless to scream by the look of him – so unlike Wormtail. And she knows too, as he steps onto the bed after her, over her, just what it is he intends of her.

* * *

She wakes alone, flushed, her vision righted, and anger swells in her, but try as she might, she is unable to find a single thing wrong with her – a single thing to point to her earlier treatment.

Peter, invariably, comes to her again and again.

In company, he is always Wormtail. She cannot openly accuse him, and she is ashamed. She longs to tell all to her sister, but she will not. She can not. She tells herself, instead, that it cannot be truth. It is not real.

It is only the inexplicable sickness that rises in her one day – it does not matter the day – that convinces her otherwise.

Even Peter, it seems, handles her differently. Less harsh, perhaps.

* * *

She hardly notices it the first time it happens. She certainly does not recognise it for what it is.

It is only that she finds herself oddly attentive to him, and her body is begging him not to stop, and her mouth is begging – her mouth! – that she realises the extent of his revenge.

She finds herself waking, at odd moments of the night, craving the scent of cinnamon and his heavy weight on top of her.

She might fall once again into slumber, only to be woken by her dreams.

But the visions do not confine themselves to sleep. They come to her at whim, and it is all she can do to keep from touching herself there, and there, and there.

* * *

The compulsions give her no rest, and even as she finds herself longing these things in her sister's presence – infinitely more horrible than in any man's presence – she grows hot.

* * *

She finds herself seeking Peter out and it is not completely horrible, and this is more horrible to her than anything. For this thing to be less than horrible with this muggleborn!

She is sick afterward, but even that does not stop the ache.

Even when a child is born in secret. Above that the child should live, she feels no other compulsion than to hasten in the making of a second.

* * *

Soon, she is forced to concede to this wrongness, and though it pains her, it becomes as normal a part of her routine as any other activity.

Except for that she cannot sleep when he is not near her.

* * *

She does not know when he is taken away from her. There are no goodbyes.

And then, as she is dying, she thinks, at least we will be together again, wherever it is. At a time like that!

She does not see the look on Molly's face. Instead: her sister, searching for her, calling her name – "Bella?" – and she, hiding, with a man who is not her husband – "I called her Carmella." – she whispers to Peter.

And then she is gone – much as her cousin had gone – and there are no more thoughts to be had here.

* * *

Barty Crouch Jnr., though he cannot know it, had finally executed his revenge on those who would fancy themselves devoted.

* * *

But the lilac wand laughs hardest… and already on its way to its new master.

* * *

_A really bad/creepy idea that kept bugging me. Hopefully it has found someone else to bug by now. All the same… Any thoughts?_


End file.
